RILEY   FARM-RHYMES 
WITH  COUNTRY  PICTURES 


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As  he  leaves  the  house,  bare-headed,  and  goes  out  to  feed  the  stock 


FARM-RHYMES 


JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY 


WITH 


COUNTRY    PICTURES 

BY 

WILL  VAWTER 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1883,  1887,  1888,  1890,  1891,  1892  1894. 
1896,  1898,  1899  and  1905 

by 

James  Whitcomb  Riley 
All  rights  reserved 


PRINTED  BY 

CHARLES  FRANCIS  PRESS 
NEW  YORK 


INSCRIBED  WITH  ALL  GRATEFUL  ESTEEM 

TO 

THE  GOOD  OLD-  FASHIONED  PEOPLE 


THE  dcadnin  and  the  thicket's  jcs'  a  b'ilin  full  o'  June, 
From  the  rattle  o'  the  cricket,  to  the  yallcr-hammcr's  tune ; 
And  the  catbird  in  the  bottom  and  the  sap-suck  on  the 

snag, 
Seems' s  ef  they  cain't — od-rot-'em! — jes'  do  nothin    else 

but  brag! 

There'  music  in  the  twitter  o'  the  bluebird  and  the  jay, 
And  that  sassy  little  critter  jes'  a-peckin'  all  the  day; 
There'  music  in  the  "nicker,"  and  there'  music  in  the 

thrush, 
And  there'  music  in  the  snicker  o'  the  chipmunk  in  the 

brush ! — 

There'    music   all   around   me! — And   I   go    back — in    a 

dream 
Sweeter  yit  than  ever  found  me  fast  asleep: — And,  in  the 

stream 
That    used   to   split   the    mcdder   whcr'   the    dandylions 

growed, 
I  stand  knee-deep,  and  redder  than  the  sunset  down  the 

road. 


PAGE 

BROOK  SONG,  THE 41 

CANARY  AT  THE  FARM,  A 76 

CLOVER,    THE 105 

COUNTRY  PATHWAY,  A .  117 

GRIGGSBY'S  STATION 83 

How  JOHN  QUIT  THE  FARM 59 

JUNE 164 

KNEE-DEEP  IN  JUNE 91 

"MYLO  JONES'S  WIFE" 51 

OLD-FASHIONED  ROSES 113 

OLD  MAN'S  NURSERY  RHYME 159 

OLD  OCTOBER 109 

OLD  WINTERS  ON  THE  FARM 176 

ORCHARD  LANDS  OF  LONG  AGO,  THE 23 

ROMANCIN' 179 

SEPTEMBER  DARK 101 

SONG  OF  LONG  AGO,  A 171 

TALE  OF  THE  AIRLY  DAYS,  A 152 

THOUGHTS  FER  THE  DISCURAGED  FARMER     ......  46 

TREE-TOAD,  THE 167 

UP   AND  DOWN   OLD   BRANDYWINE 135 

WET- WEATHER  TALK 36 

WHEN   EARLY  MARCH   SEEMS  MIDDLE  MAY 147 

WHEN  THE  FROST  is  ON  THE  PUNKIN 27 

WHEN  THE  GREEN  GITS  BACK  IN  THE  TREES 32 

WHERE  THE  CHILDREN  USED  TO  PLAY 79 

WORTERMELON   TlME 127 


PAGE 

As  HE  LEAVES  THE  HOUSE,  BARE-HEADED,  AND  GOES  OUT  TO 

FEED  THE  STOCK  ..........     FRONTISPIECE 

THE  ORCHARD  LANDS  OF  LONG  AGO  —  TITLE     .....  23 

SEAS   THAT   FLOAT  AND  OVERFLOW     ........  25 

WHEN  THE  FROST  is  ON  THE  PUNKIN  —  TITLE     ....  27 

THE  HUSKY,  RUSTY  RUSSEL  OF  THE  TOSSELS  OF  THE  CORN    .  29 

AND   YOUR   CIDER-MAKIN'   's   OVER     ........  31 

WHEN  THE  GREEN  GITS  BACK  IN  THE  TREES  —  TITLE     .      .  32 

WORK  is  THE  LEAST  o'  my  IDEES     .........  33 

WET-  WEATHER    TALK  —  TITLE        .........  36 

IT  HAIN'T  NO  USE  TO  GRUMBLE  AND  COMPLANE     ....  37 

WET-  WEATHER  TALK  —  TAILPIECE       ........  40 

THE  BROOK-SONG  —  TITLE     ...........  41 

CAME  A  TRUANT  BOY  LIKE  ME     .........  43 

THE    BROOK-SONG  —  TAILPIECE        .........  45 

THOUGHTS    FER   THE  DISCURAGED   FARMER  —  TITLE     ...  46 

TIIEYR  PEACEARLER  IN  POT-PIES  THAN  ANY  OTHER  THING  .  47 

"  MYLO  JONES'S  WIFE  "--TITLE     .........  51 

SHE'S  THE  Boss  OF  HER  OWN  HOUSE!     .......  53 

•'  MYLO  JONES'S  WIFE  "  -  -  TAILPIECE    ........  56 

BACK  WHARE  HE'D  RUTHER  BE  WITH  His  TEAM     ...  57 

How  JOHN   QUIT  THE   FARM  —  TITLE     .......  59 

WHEN    HARVEST-TIME    COME    ON     ........  61 

His  MOTHER  CLINGIN'  TO  HIM  AT  THE  GATE     .....  65 


SENCE  THEN  THE  OLD  HOME  HERE  WAS  MIGHTY  LONESOME 
AND   PUTT  His  ARMS  ROUND  MOTHER'S   NECK     ... 

(xvii) 


69 


ILLUSTRATIONS  —  Continued 

PAGE 

How  JOHN  QUIT  THE  FARM  —  TAILPIECE 75 

A  CANARY  AT  THE  FARM 77 

WHERE  THE  CHILDREN   USED  TO  PLAY  —  TITLE     ....  79 

WINDING    YONDER    TO    THE    ORCHARD 81 

GRIGGSBY'S   STATION  —  TITLE 83 

EVER'  NEIGHBOR  ROUND  THE  PLACE  is  DEAR  AS  A  RELATION  85 

GRIGGSBY'S   STATION  —  TAILPIECE 88 

I    WANT   TO    SEE   THE    PIECE-QUILTS   THE   JONES    GIRLS    is 

'  MAKIN' 89 

KNEE-DEEP  IN  JUNE  —  TITLE 91 

THROUGH  THE  WAVIN'  LEAVES  ABOVE 93 

WORK  'AT  KINDO  GOES  AG'IN  MY  CONVICTIONS!     ....  97 

KNEE-DEEP    IN    JUNE  —  TAILPIECE 100 

SEPTEMBER    DARK  —  TITLE 10: 

SEPTEMBER    DARK  —  TAILPIECE 102 

THE  Low,  SLOW  MOON,  AND  UPWARD  DRIFTS 103 

THE    CLOVER  —  TITLE 105 

AND    So    I    LOVE    CLOVER 107 

OLD    OCTOBER  —  TITLE 109 

HlCKERNUTS    A     FELLER     HEARS Ill 

OLD-FASHIONED    ROSES- — TITLE 113 

YIT  THE  DOORWAY  HERE,  WITHOUT  'EM,  WOULD  BE  LCNE- 

SOMER 115 

A   COUNTRY   PATHWAY  —  TITLE 117 

I  TAKE  THE  PATH  THAT  LEADS  ME  AS  IT  MAY     ....  119 

OR,  AT  THE  CREEK,  LEADS  O'ER  A  LIMPID  POOL     ....  123 

WORTERMELON     TlME TlTLE 127 

WHEN    You    SPLIT   ONE   DOWN   THE   BACK    AND   JOLT   THE 

HALVES  IN  Two 129 

AND   THE   NEW-MOON   HANGIN'    ORE  Us   LIKE   A   YELLER- 

CORED  SLICE 133 

UP    AND    DOWN    OLD    BRANDYWINE  —  TITLE 135 

IN  AND  ON  BETWIXT  THE  TREES 137 

SAME  OLD   RIPPLE   LIPS   AWAY ...  141 

(xviii) 


ILLUSTRATIONS  —  Coniillltcd 

PAGE 

WITH    A    DAD-BURN    HOOK-AND-LINE 145 

WHEN   EARLY   MARCH   SEEMS   MIDDLE  MAY  —  TITLE       .      .  147 

AND   CHOPPERS'    HANDS    ARE   BARE 149 

EARLY   MARCH  —  TAILPIECE 151 

A  TALE  OF  THE  AIRLY  DAYS  —  TITLE 152 

THE  TIMES  AS  THEY   UST  TO   BE 153 

A   TALE  OF   THE  AIRLY   DAYS  —  TAILPIECE 156 

AND  THE  CHILDREN   GETHERS  HOME  ONC'T   MORE     .      .      .  157 

OLD  MAN'S  NURSERY  RHYME  —  TITLE 159 

STAKTIN'  OUT  RABBIT-HUNTIN'  EARLY  AS  THE  DAWN     .      .  161 

JUNE  —  TITLE 164 

MONTH  OF  INDOLENT  REPOSE 165 

THE  TREE-TOAD  —  TITLE 167 

SOME  FARMER  WOULD  COME  A-DRIVIN'  PAST 169 

A   SONG  OF   LONG    AGO  —  TITLE 171 

THROUGH  THE  PASTURE-BARS 173 

As  THE  MEMORY  MAY  KNOW 175 

OLD  WINTERS  ON  THE  FARM  —  TITLE 176 

IT  'Ui>  KEEP  A  TOWN-BOY  HOPPIN' 177 

ROMANCIN'  —  TITLE 179 

WHARE  THE  HAZEL-BUSHES  TOSSES  DOWN  THEYR  SHADDERS  181 

THEN'S  WHEN  I'  B'EN  A-FistiiN'! 185 

ROMANCIN'  —  TAILPIECE        187 

END  PICTURE     .....  188 


(xix) 


RILEY  FARM-RHYMES 


THE  ORCHARD  LANDS  OF  LONG  AGO 

THE  orchard  lands  of  Long  Ago ! 
O  drowsy  winds,  awake,  and  blow 
The  snowy  blossoms  back  to  me. 
And  all  the  buds  that  used  to  be ! 
Blow  back  along  the  grassy  ways 
Of  truant  feet,  and  lift  the  haze 
Of  happy  summer  from  the  trees 
That  trail  their  tresses  in  the  seas 
Of  grain  that  float  and  overflow 
The  orchard  lands  of  Long  Ago ! 

23 


THE    ORCHARD    LANDS    OF    LONG    AGO 

Blow  back  the  melody  that  slips 
In  lazy  laughter  from  the  lips 
That  marvel  much  if  any  kiss 
Is  sweeter  than  the  apple's  is. 
Blow  back  the  twitter  of  the  birds— 
The  lisp,  the  titter,  and  the  words 
Of  merriment  that  found  the  shine 
Of  summer-time  a  glorious  wine 
That  drenched  the  leaves  that  loved  it  sc 
In  orchard  lands  of  Long  Ago ! 

O  memory !  alight  and  sing 
Where  rosy-bellied  pippins  cling, 
And  golden  russets  glint  and  gleam, 
As,  in  the  old  Arabian  dream. 
The  fruits  of  that  enchanted  tree 
The  glad  Aladdin  robbed  for  me ! 
And,  drowsy  winds,  awake  and  fan 
My  blood  as  when  it  overran 
A  heart  ripe  as  the  apples  grow 
In  orchard  lands  of  Long  Ago ! 


WHEN  THE  FROST  IS  OX  THE  PUNKIN 


w 


HEN  the  frost  is  on  the  punkin  and  the  fodder's  in 

the  shock, 
And   you   hear   the   kyouck   and   gobble  of  the   struttin' 

turkey-cock, 
And  the  clackin'  of  the  guineys,  and  the  cluckin'  of  the 

hens, 

And  the  rooster's  hallylooyer  as  he  tiptoes  on  the  fence ; 
O,  it's  then's  the  times  a  feller  is  a-feelin'  at  his  best, 
With  the  risin'  sun  to  greet  him  from  a  night  of  peaceful 

rest. 
As  he  leaves  the  house,  bare-headed,  and  goes  out  to  feed 

the  stock, 
When  the  frost  is  on  the  punkin  and  the  fodder's  in  the 

shock. 

27 


WHEN    THE    FROST    IS    ON    THE    PUXKIN 

They's  something  kindo'  harty-like  about  the  atmusfere 
When  the  heat  of  summer's  over  and  the  coolin'  fall  i? 

here — 
Of  course  we  miss  the  flowers,  and  the  blossums  on  the 

trees, 
And  the  mumble  of  the  hummin'-birds  and  buzzin'  of  the 

bees ; 
But  the  air's  so  appetizin';  and  the  landscape  through  the 

haze 

Of  a  crisp  and  sunny  morning  of  the  airly  autumn  days 
Is  a  pictur'  that  no  painter  has  the  colorin'  to  mock — 
When  the  frost  is  on  the  punkin  and  the  fodder's  in  the 

shock. 

The  husky,  rusty  russel  of  the  tossels  of  the  corn. 

And  the  raspin'  of  the  tangled  leaves,  as  golden  as  the 

morn  ; 

The  stubble  in  the  furries — kindo'  lonesome-like,  but  still 
A-preachin'  sermuns  to  us  of  the  barns  they  growed  to  fill ; 
The  strawstack  in  the  medder,  and  the  reaper  in  the  shed ; 
The  hosses  in  theyr  stalls  below — the  clover  overhead ! — 
O,  it  sets  my  hart  a-clickin'  like  the  tickin'  of  a  clock, 
When  the  frost  is  on  the  punkin  and  the  fodder's  in  the 

shock ! 

28 


WHEN   THE   FROST   IS  ON   THE  PUNKIN 

Then  your  apples  all  is  getherd,  and  the  ones  a  feller  keeps 
Is  poured  around  the  celler-floor  in  red  and  yeller  heaps ; 
And  your  cider-makhr  's  over,  and  your  wimmern- folks 

is  through 
With  their  mince  and  apple-butter,  and  theyr  souse  and 

saussage,  too !  .  .  . 

I  don't  know  how  to  tell  it — but  ef  sich  a  thing  could  be 
As  the  Angels  wantin'  boarditr,  and  they'd  call  around 

on  me — 
I'd  want  to  'commodate  'em — all  the  whole-indurin' 

flock- 
When  the  frost  is  on  the  punkin  and  the  fodder's  in  the 

shock ! 


WHEN  THE  GREEX  GITS  BACK  IN  THE 
TREES 


IN  Spring,  when  the  green  gits  back  in  the  trees, 
And  the  sun  comes  out  and  stays, 
And  yer  boots  pulls  on  with  a  good  tight  squeeze, 

And  you  think  of  yer  bare-foot  days ; 
When  you  ort  to  wrork  and  you  want  to  n^t, 

And  you  and  yer  wife  agrees 
It's  time  to  spade  up  the  garden-lot, 
AVhen  the  green  gits  back  in  the  trees 
Well !  work  is  the  least  o'  my  idees 
When  the  green,  you  know,  gits  back  in  the  trees ! 


WHEN    THE   GREEN   GITS   BACK   IN   THE  TREES 

When  the  green  gits  back  in  the  trees,  and  bees 

Is  a-buzzin'  aroun'  ag'in 
In  that  kind  of  a  lazy  go-as-you-please 

Old  gait  they  bum  rotin'  in  ; 
When  the  groun's  all  bald  whare  the  hay-rick  stood, 

And  the  crick's  riz,  and  the  breeze 
Coaxes  the  bloom  in  the  old  dogwood, 

And  the  green  gits  back  in  the  trees, — 
I  like,  as  I  say,  in  sich  scenes  as  these, 
The  time  when  the  green  gits  back  in  the  trees  ! 

When  the  whole  tail-feathers  o'  Wintertime 

Is  all  pulled  out  and  gone ! 
And  the  sap  it  thaws  and  begins  to  climb, 

And  the  swet  it  starts  out  on 
A  feller's  forred,  a-gittin'  down 

At  the  old  spring  on  his  knees — 
I  kindo'  like  jest  a-loaferin'  roun' 

When  the  green  gits  back  in  the  trees — 
Jest  a-potterin'  roun'  as  I — durn — please — 
When  the  green,  you  know,  gits  back  in  the  trees ! 


35 


WET-WEATHER  TALK 

IT  hain't  no  use  to  grumble  and  coinplane  ; 
It's  jest  as  cheap  and  easy  to  rejoice. — 
When  God  sorts  out  the  weather  ,?nd  sends  rai 
W'y,  rain's  my  choice. 

Men  ginerly,  to  all  intents — 

Although  they're  apt  to  grumble  seme— 
Puts  most  theyr  trust  in  Providence, 
And  takes  things  as  they  come — 
That  is,  the  commonality 
Of  men  that's  lived  as  long  as  me 
Has  watched  the  world  enugh  to  learn 
They're  not  the  boss  of  this  concern. 

36 


WET-WEATHER  TALK 

With  some,  of  course,  it's  different — 

I've  saw  young  men  that  knowed  it  all, 
And  didn't  like  the  way  things  went 
On  this  terrestchul  ball ; — 

But  all  the  same,  the  rain,  some  way, 
Rained  jest  as  hard  on  picnic  day; 
Er,  when  they  railly  wanted  it, 
It  mayby  wouldn't  rain  a  bit ! 

In  this  existunce,  dry  and  wet 

Will  overtake  the  best  of  men — 
Some  little  skift  o'  clouds'll  shet 
The  sun  off  now  and  then. — 

And  mayby,  whilse  you're  wundern  who 
You've  fool-like  lent  your  umbrelF  to, 
And  zvant  it — out'll  pop  the  sun, 
And  you'll  be  glad  you  hain't  got  none ! 

It  aggervates  the  farmers,  too — 

They's  too  much  wet,  er  too  much  sun, 
Er  work,  er  waitin'  round  to  do 
Before  the  plowin'  's  done : 

And  mayby,  like  as  not,  the  wheat, 
Jest  as  it's  lookin'  hard  to  beat, 

39 


WET-WEATHER  TALK 

Will  ketch  the  storm — and  jest  about 
The  time  the  corn's  a-jintin'  out. 

These-here  cy-cloncs  a-foolin'  round — 

And  back'ard  crops ! — and  wind  and  rain  ! — 
And  yit  the  corn  that's  wallerd  down 
May  elbow  up  again  ! — 

They  hain't  no  sense,  as  I  can  see, 
Per  mortuls,  sich  as  us,  to  be 
A-fauitin'  Xatchur's  wise  intents, 
And  lockin'  horns  with  Providence ! 

It  hain't  no  use  to  grumble  and  complane ; 

It's  jest  as  cheap  and  easy  to  rejoice. — 
When  God  sorts  out  the  weather  and  sends  rain 
W'y,  rain's  my  choice. 


40 


THE  BROOK-SONG 


L 


ITTLE  brook  !     Little  brook  ! 

You  have  such  a  happy  look — 
Such  a  very  merry  manner,  as  you  swerve  and 

curve  and  crook — 
And  your  ripples,  one  and  one. 
Reach  each  other's  hands  and  run 

Like  laughing  little  children  in  the  sun ! 

41 


THE  BROOK-SONG 

Little  brook,  sing  to  me : 
Sing  about  a  bumblebee 
That  tumbled  from  a  lily-bell  and  grumbled  mum- 

blingly, 

Because  he  wet  the  film 
Of  his  wings,  and  had  to  swim, 

While  the   water-bugs  raced  round  and 
laughed  at  him ! 

Little  brook — sing  a  song 
Of  a  leaf  that  sailed  along 
Down  the  golden-braided  centre  of  your  current 

swift  and  strong, 
And  a  dragon-fly  that  lit 
On  the  tilting  rim  of  it, 

And  rode  away  and  wasn't  scared  a  bit. 

And  sing — how  oft  in  glee 
Came  a  truant  boy  like  me. 

Who  loved  to  lean  and  listen  to  your  lilting  melody, 
Till  the  gurgle  and  refrain 
Of  your  music  in  his  brain 

Wrought  a  happiness  as  keen  tc  Mm  as 
pain. 

42 


THE    BROOK-SONG 

Little  brook — laugh  and  leap ! 
Do  not  let  the  dreamer  weep : 
Sing   him   all    the    songs   of    summer    till    he    sink    in 

softest  sleep ; 

And  then  sing  soft  and  low 
Through  his  dreams  of  long  ago — 

Sin?  hack  to  him  the  rest  he  used  to  know ! 


45 


THOUGHTS  PER  THE  DISCURAGED 
FARMER 


THE  summer  winds  is  sniffin'  round  the  bloomin'  locus' 
trees ; 

And  the  clover  in  the  pastur  is  a  big  day  fer  the  bees, 
And  they  been  a-swiggin'  honey,  above  board  and  on  the 

sly, 

Tel  they  stutter  in  theyr  buzzin'  and  stagger  as  they  fly. 
The  flicker  on  the  fence-rail   'pears  to   jest  spit   on  his 

wings 

And  roll  up  his  feathers,  by  the  sassy  way  he  sings : 
And  the  hoss-fly  is  a-whettin'-up  his  forelegs  fer  biz, 
And  the  off-mare  is  a-switchin'  all  of  her  tale  they  is. 

46 


THOUGHTS  PER  THE  DISCURAGED  FARMER 

You  can  hear  the  blackbirds  jawin'  as  they  f oiler  up  the 

plow- 
Oh,   theyr   bound   to  git   theyr   brekfast,    and   theyr   not 

a-carin'  how  ; 
So  they  quarrel  in  the  furries,  and  they  quarrel  on  the 

wing — 

But  theyr  peaccabler  in  pot-pies  than  any  other  thing : 
And  it's  when  I  git  my  shotgun  drawed  up  in  sticldy  rest, 
She's  as  full  of  tribbelation  as  a  yeller-jacket's  nest ; 
And  a  few  shots  before  dinner,  when  the  sun's  a-shinin' 

right, 
Seems  to  kindo'-sorto'  sharpen  up  a  feller's  appetite  ! 

They's  been  a  heap  o'  rain,  but  the  sun's  out  to-day, 
And  the  clouds  of  the  wet  spell  is  all  cleared  away, 
And  the  woods  is  all  the  greener,  and  the  grass  is  greener 

still; 

It  may  rain  again  to-morry,  but  I  don't  think  it  will. 
Some  says  the  crops  is  ruined,  and  the  corn's  drownded 

out, 

And  propha-sy  the  wheat  will  be  a  failure,  without  doubt ; 
But  the  kind  Providence  that  has  never  failed  us  yet, 
Will  be  on  hands  onc't  more  at  the  'leventh  hour,  I  bet! 

49 


THOUGHTS  FER  THE  DISCURAGED  FARMER 

Does  the  medder-lark  complane,  as  he  swims  high  and  dry 
Through  the  waves  of  the  wind  and  the  blue  of  the  sky  ? 
Does  the  quail  set  up  and  whissel  in  a  disappinted  way, 
Er  hang  his  head  in  silunce,  and  sorrow  all  the  day? 
Is  the  chipmuck's  health  a-failin'  ? — Does  he  walk,  er  does 

he  run  ? 
Don't  the  buzzards  ooze  around  up  thare  jest  like  they've 

allus  done? 
Is  they  anything  the  matter  with  the  rooster's  lungs  er 

voice? 
Ort  a  mortul  be  complainin'  when  dumb  animals  rejoice? 

Then  let  us,  one  and  all,  be  contentud  with  our  lot ; 
The  June  is  here  this  morning,  and  the  sun  is  shining  hot. 
Oh !   let  us  fill  our  harts  up  with  the  glory  of  the  day, 
And  banish  ev'ry  doubt  and  care  and  sorrow  fur  away ! 
Whatever  be  our  station,  with  Providence  fer  guide, 
Sich  fine  circumstances  ort  to  make  us  satisfied ; 
Fer  the  world  is  full  of  roses,  and  the  roses  full  of  dew, 
And  the  dew  is  full  of  heavenly  love  that  drips  fer  me 
and  you. 


MYLO  JONES'S  wife"  was  all 
I  heerd,  mighty  near,  last  Fall- 
Visitun  relations  down 
T'other  side  of  Morgantown ! 
Mylo  Jones's  wife  she  does 
This  and  that,  and  "those"  and  "thus"  !— 
Can't  'bide  babies  in  her  sight— 
Ner  no  childern,  day  and  night, 
Whoopin'  round  the  premises — 
Ner  no  no  thin'  else,  I  guess ! 


MYLO  JONES  S  WIFE 

Mylo  Jones's  wife  she  'lows 

She's  the  boss  of  her  own  house ! — 

Mylo — consequences  is — 

Stays  whare  things  seem  some  like  his, — 

Uses,  mostly,  with  the  stock — 

Coaxin'  "Old  Kate"  not  to  balk, 

Xer  kick  hoss-flies'  branes  out,  ncr 

Act,  I  s'pose,  so  much  like  her! 

Yit  the  wimmern-folks  tells  you 

She's  perfection. — Yes  they  do  ! 

Mylo's  wife  she  says  she's  found 

Home  hain't  home  with  men-folks  round 

When  they's  work  like  hern  to  do — 

Picklin'  pears  and  bntchcrn,  too, 

And  a-rendern  lard,  and  then 

Cookin'  fer  a  pack  of  men 

To  come  trackin'  up  the  flore 

She's  scrubbed  tcl  she'll  scrub  no  more! — 

Yit  she'd  keep  things  clean  ef  they 

Made  her  scrub  tel  Jedgmunt  Day ! 

Mylo  Jones's  wife  she  sews 
Carpet-rags  and  patches  clothes 

52 


MYLO  JONES  S  WIFE 

Jest  year  in  and  out! — and  yit 
Whare's  the  livin'  use  of  it? 
She  asts  Mylo  that.— And  he 
Gits  back  whare  he'd  ruther  be, 
With  his  team  ; — jest  plows — and  don't 
Never  sware — like  some  folks  won't ! 
Think  ef  he'd  cut  loose,  I  gum ! 
'D  he'p  his  heavenly  chances  some ! 

Mylo's  wife  don't  see  no  use, 
Ner  no  reason  ner  excuse 
Fer  his  pore  relations  to 
Hang  round  like  they  allus  do ! 
Thare  'bout  onc't  a  year — and  she — 
She  jest  ga'nts  'em,  folks  tells  me, 
On  spiced  pears ! — Pass  Mylo  one, 
He  says  "No,  he  don't  chuse  none !" 
Workin'  men  like  Mylo  they 
'D  ort  to  have  meat  ev'ry  day ! 

Dad-burn  Mylo  Jones's  wife ! 
Ruther  rake  a  blame  caseknife 
'Crost  my  wizzen  than  to  see 
Sich  a  womern  rulin'  me! — 

55 


MYLO  JONES  S  WIFE 

Ruthcr  take  and  turn  in  and 
Raise  a  fool  mule-colt  by  hand ! 
Mylo,  though — od-rot  the  man  ! — 
Jest  keeps  ca'm — like  some  folks  can- 
And  'lows  sich  as  her,  I  s'pose, 
Is  Man's  hc'pmcct! — Mercy  knows! 


HOW  JOHN  QUIT  THE  FARM 


NOBODY  on  the  old  farm  here  but  Mother,  me  and 
John, 
Except,    of   course,    the   extry    he'p    when   harvest-time 

conies  on, — 

And  then,  I  want  to  say  to  you,  we  needed  he'p  about, 
As  you'd  admit,  ef  you'd  a-seen  the  way  the  crops  turned 
out! 

5Q 


HOW  JOHN  QUIT  THE  FARM 

A  better  quarter-section  ner  a  richer  soil  warn't  found 
Than   this-here   old-home   place   o'   ourn   fer   fifty   miles 

around ! — 
The  house  was  small — hut  plenty-big  we  found  it  from 

the  day 
That  John — our   only    livin'   son — packed   up    and    went 

away. 

You  see,  we  tuk  sich  pride  in  John — his  mother  more'n 

me — 
That's  natchurul ;   but   both   of  us   was   proud  as  proud 

could  be : 
Fer  the   boy,    from   a   little   chap,   was   most   oncommon 

bright, 
And  seemed  in  work  as  well  as  play  to  take  the  same 

delight. 

He  allus  went  a-whistlin1  round  the  place,  as  glad  at  heart 

As  robins  tip  at  five  o'clock  to  git  an  airly  start ; 

And  many  a  time  'fore  daylight  Mother's  waked  me  up 

to  say — 
"Jest    listen,    David  ! — listen  : — Johnny's    beat    the    birds 

to-day !" 

60 


t  I 


HOW  JOHN  QUIT  THE  FARM 

High-sperited  from  boyhood,  with  a  most  inquirin'  turn,— 
He  wanted  to  learn  ever'thing  on  earth  they  was  to  learn : 
He'd  ast  more  plaguy  questions  in  a  mortal-minute  here 
Than  his  grandpap  in  Paradise  could  answer  in  a  year ! 

And  read!  w'y,  his  own  mother  learnt  him  how  to  read 

and  spell ; 
And  "The  Childern  of  the  Abbey" — w'y,  he  knowed  that 

book  as  well 
At  fifteen  as  his  parents ! — and  "The  Pilgrim's  Progress," 

too — • 
Jest  knuckled  down,  the  shaver  did,  and  read  'em  through 

and  through ! 

At  eighteen,  Mother  'lowed  the  boy  must  have  a  better 

chance — 

That  we  ort  to  educate  him,  under  any  circumstance ; 
And  John  he  j'ined  his  mother,  and  they  ding-donged  and 

kep'  on, 
Tel  I  sent  him  off  to  school  in  town,  half  glad  that  he  was 

gone. 

But — I  missed  him — w'y,  of  course  I  did ! — The  Fall  and 

Winter  through 
I  never  built  the  kitchen-fire,  er  split  a  stick  in  two, 

63 


HOW  JOHN  QUIT  THE  FARM 

Er  fed  the  stock,  er  butchered,  er  swung  up  a  gambrel-pin. 
But  what  I  thought  o'  John,  and  wished  that  he  was  home 
ag'in. 

He'd  come,  sometimes — on  Sund'ys  most — and  stay  the 

Sund'y  out ; 

And  on  Thanksgivin'-Day  he  'peared  to  like  to  be  about : 
But  a  change  was  workin'  on  him — he  was  stiller  than 

before. 
And  didn't  joke,  ner  laugh,  ner  sing  and  whistle  any  more. 

And  his  talk  was  all  so  proper;  and  I  noticed,  with  a  sigh, 
He  was  tryin'  to  raise  side-whiskers,  and  had  on  a  striped 

tie, 

And  a  standin'-collar,  ironed  up  as  stiff  and  slick  as  bone ; 
And  a  breast-pin,  and  a  watch  and  chain  and  plug-hat  of 

his  own. 

But  when  Spring-weather  opened  out,  and  John  was  to 

come  home 
And  he'p  me  through  the  season,  I  was  glad  to  see  him 

come ; 
But  my  happiness,  that  evening,  with  the  settin'  sun  went 

down, 
When  he  bragged  of  "a  position"  that  was  offered  him  in 

town. 

64 


HOW  JOHN  QUIT  THE  FARM 

"But,"  says  I,  "you'll  not  accept  it?"     "W'y,  of  course  I 

will,"  says  he. — 
"This  druclgin'  on  a  farm,"  he  says,  "is  not  the  life  fer 

me; 

I've  set  my  stakes  up  higher,"  he  continued,  light  and  gay, 
"And  town's  the  place  fer  me,  and  I'm  a-goin'  right 

away !" 

And  go  he  did! — his  mother  clingin'  to  him  at  the  gate, 

A-pleadin'  and  a-cryin' ;  but  it  hadn't  any  weight. 

I  was  tranquiller,  and  told  her  'twarn't  no  use  to  worry 

so, 
And  enclasped  her  arms  from  round  his  neck  round  mine 

— and  let  him  go  ! 

I  felt  a  little  hitter  feelin'  foolin'  round  about 
The  aidges  of  my  conscience ;  but  I  didn't  let  it  out ; — 
I  simply  retch  out,  trimbly-like,  and  tuk  the  boy's  hand, 
And  though  I  didn't  say  a  word,  I  knowed  he'd  under 
stand. 

And — well ! — sence  then  the  old  home  here  was  mighty 

lonesome,  shore ! 
With  me  a-workin'  in  the  field,  and  Mother  at  the  door, 

67 


HOW  JOHN  QUIT  THE  FARM 

Her  face  ferever  to'rds  the  town,  and  fadin'  more  and 

more — • 
Her  only  son  nine  miles  away,  a-clerkin'  in  a  store ! 

The  weeks  and  months  dragged  by  us ;  and  sometimes  the 

boy  would  write 

A  letter  to  his  mother,  savin'  that  his  work  was  light, 
And  not  to  feel  oneasy  about  his  health  a  bit — 
Though  his  business  was  confinin',  he  was  gittin'  used 

to  it. 

And  sometimes  he  would  write  and  ast  how  /  was  gittin' 

on, 

And  ef  I  had  to  pay  out  much  fer  he'p  sence  he  was  gone ; 
And  how  the  hogs  was  doin',  and  the  balance  of  the  stock, 
And  talk  on  fer  a  page  er  two  jest  like  he  used  to  talk. 

And  he  wrote,  along  'fore  harvest,   that  he  guessed  he 

would  git  home, 
Fer   business   would,   of  course,   be   dull   in   town. — But 

didn't  come : — 

We  got  a  postal  later,  savin'  when  they  had  no  trade 
They  filled  the  time  "invoicin'  goods,"  and  that  was  why 

he  stayed. 

68 


HOW  JOHN  QUIT  THE  FARM 

And  then  he  quit  a-writin'  altogether :     Not  a  word — 

Exceptin'  what  the  neighbers  brung  who'd  been  to  town 
and  heard 

\Yhat  store  John  was  clerkin'  in,  and  went  round  to  in 
quire 

If  they  could  buy  their  goods  there  less  and  sell  their 
produce  higher. 

And  so  the  Summer  faded  out,  and  Autumn  wore  away, 
And  a  keener  Winter  never  fetched  around  Thanksgivin'- 

Day! 

The  night  before  that  day  of  thanks  I'll  never  quite  fergit, 
The  wind  a-howlin'  round  the  house — it  makes  me  creepy 

yit! 

And  there  set  me  and  Mother — me  a-twistin'  at  the  prongs 
Of  a  green  scrub-ellum  forestick  with  a  vicious  pair  of 

tongs, 

And  Mother  savin',  "David!  David!"  in  a'  undertone, 
As  though   she  thought  that  I   was  thinkin'  bad-words 

unbeknown. 

"I've  dressed  the  turkey,  David,  fer  to-morrow,"  Mother 

said, 
A-tryin'  to  wedge  some  pleasant  subject  in  my  stubborn 

head, — 

71 


HO\V  JOHX  QUIT  THE  FARM 

"And  the  mince-meal  I'm  a-mixin'  is  perfection  mighty 

nigh  ; 
And    the    pound-cake    is    delicious-rich—        "Who'll    eat 

'em?"  I-savs-I. 


"The  cramberries  is  drippin'-swcet,"  says  Mother,  runnin' 

on, 
P'tendin'  not  to  hear  me ; — "and  somehow  I  thought  of 

John 
All  the  time  they  was  a-jellin' — fer  you  know  they  allus 

was 
His  favorite — he  likes   'em  so !''     Says  I,  "Well,   s'pose 

he  does?' 


"Oh,  nothin'  much !"  says  Mother,  with  a  quiet  sort  o' 

smile— 
"This   gentleman   behind   my   cheer   may    tell   you   after 

while !" 
And  as  I  turnt  and  looked  around,  some  one  riz  up  and 

leant 
And  putt  his  arms  round  Mother's  neck,  and  laughed  in 

low  content. 

72 


HOW  JOHN  QUIT  THE  FARM 

"It's  me,"  he  says — "your  fool-boy  John,  come  back  to 
shake  your  hand ; 

Set  down  with  you,  and  talk  with  you,  and  make  you  un 
derstand 

How  dearer  yit  than  all  the  world  is  this  old  home  that 
we 

Will  spend  Thanksgivin'  in  fer  life — jest  Mother,  you 
and  me !" 


Nobody  on  the  old  farm  here  but  Mother,  me  and  John, 
Except,  of  course,  the  extry  he'p  when  harvest-time  comes 

on ; 

And  then,  I  want  to  say  to  you,  we  need  sich  he'p  about. 
As  you'd  admit,  ef  you  could  see  the  way  the  crops  turns 

out! 


75 


A  CANARY  AT  THE  FARM 

FOLKS  has  be'n  to  town,  and  Sahry 
Fetched  'er  home  a  pet  canary, — 
And  of  all  the  blame',  contrary, 

Aggervatin'  things  alive! 
I  love  music — that's  I  love  it 
\Yhen  it's  free — and  plenty  of  it ; — 
But  I  kindo'  git  above  it, 
At  a  dollar-eighty-five ! 

Reason's  plain  as  I'm  a-sayin', — 
Jes'  the  idy,  now,  o'  layin' 
Out  yer  money,  and  a-payin' 

Fer  a  wilier-cage  and  bird, 
\Yhen  the  medder-larks  is  wingin' 
Round  you,  and  the  woods  is  ring-in"' 
"\Yith  the  beautifullest  singin' 

That  a  mortal  ever  heard ! 

Sahry's  sot,  tho'. — So  I  tell  her 

He's  a  purty  little  feller, 

\Yith  his  wings  o'  creamy-yeller, 

And  his  eyes  keen  as  a  cat ; 
And  the  twitter  o'  the  critter 
'Pears  to  absolutely  glitter ! 
Guess  I'll  haf  to  go  and  git  her 

A  high-priceter  cage  'n  that ! 


WHERE  THE  CHILDREN  USED  TO  PLAY 


THE  old  farm-home  is  Mother's  yet  and  mine, 
And  rilled  it  is  with  plenty  and  to  spare, — 
But  we  are  lonely  here  in  life's  decline, 

Though  fortune  smiles  around  us  everywhere : 
We  look  across  the  gold 
Of  the  harvests,  as  of  old  — 
The  corn,  the  fragrant  clover,  and  the  hay ; 
But  most  we  turn  our  gaze, 
As  with  eyes  of  other  days, 
To  the  orchard  where  the  children  used  to  play. 

79 


WHERE    THE    CHILDREN    USED    TO    PLAY 

O  from  our  life's  full  measure 
And  rich  hoard  of  worldly  treasure 

We  often  turn  our  weary  eyes  away, 
And  hand  in  hand  we  wander 
Down  the  old  'path  winding  yonder 

To  the  orchard  where  the  children  used  to  play. 

Our  sloping  pasture-lands  are  filled  with  herds ; 

The  barn  and  granary-bins  are  bulging  o'er : 
The  grove's  a  paradise  of  singing  birds  — 

The  woodland  brook  leaps  laughing  by  the  door 

Yet  lonely,  lonely  still. 

Let  us  prosper  as  we  will, 
Our  old  hearts  seem  so  empty  everyway  — 

"We  can  only  through  a  mist 

See  the  faces  we  have  kissed 
In  the  orchard  where  the  children  used  to  play. 

O  from  our  life's  full  measure 
And  rich  hoard  of  worldly  treasure 

We  often  turn  our  weary  eyes  away, 
And  hand  in  hand  we  wander 
Down  the  old  path  winding  \ondcr 

To  the  orchard  where  the  children  used  to  plav. 

80 


GRIGGSBY'S  STATION 


PAP'S  got  his  pattent-right,  and  rich  as  all  creation ; 
But  where's  the  peace  and  comfort  that  \ve  all  had 

before  ? 

Le's  go  a-visitin'  back  to  Griggsby's  Station — 
Back  where  we  ust  to  be  so  happy  and  so  pore ! 

The  likes  of  us  a-livin'  here!     It's  jest  a  mortal  pity 
To  see  us  in  this  great  big  house,  with  cyarpets  on  the 

stairs, 
And  the  pump  right  in  the  kitchen !     And  the  city !  city ! 

city  ! — 
And  nothin'  but  the  city  all  around  us  ever'wheres ! 

83 


GRIGGSBY  S   STATION 

Climb  clean  above  the  roof  and  look  from  the  steeple, 
And  never  see  a  robin,  nor  a  beech  or  ellum  tree ! 

And  right  here  in  ear-shot  of  at  least  a  thousan'  people, 
And  none  that  neighbors  with  us  or  we  want  to  go  and 
see! 


Le's  go  a-visitin'  back  to  Griggsby's  Station  — 

Back  where  the  latch-string's  a-hangin'  from  the  door, 

And  ever'  neighbor  round  the  place  is  dear  as  a  relation  — 
Back  where  we  ust  to  be  so  happy  and  so  pore ! 


I  want  to  see  the  Wiggenses,  the  whole  kit-and-bilin', 
A-drivin'   up   from   Shallor   Ford  to  stay  the   Sunday 

through  ; 
And  I  want  to  see  'em  hitchin'  at  their  son-in-law's  and 

pilin' 

Out  there  at  'Lizy  Ellen's  like  they  ust  to  do ! 

84 


GRIGGSBY  S    STATION 

I  want  to  see  the  piece-quilts  the  Jones  girls  is  makin' ; 
And  I  want  to  pester  Laury  'bout  their  freckled  hired 

hand, 
And  joke  her   'bout  the  widower   she  come  purt'  nigh 

a-takin', 

Till  her  Pap  got  his  pension  'lowed  in  time  to  save  his 
land. 


Le's  go  a-visitin'  back  to  Griggsby's  Station- 
Back  where  they's  nothin'  aggervatin'  any  more, 

Shet  away  safe  in  the  woods  around  the  old  location — 
Back  where  we  ust  to  be  so  happy  and  so  pore ! 


I  want  to  see  Marindy  and  he'p  her  with  her  sewin', 
And  hear  her  talk  so  lovin'  of  her  man  that's  dead  and 

gone, 
And  stand  up  with  Emanuel  to  show  me  how  he's 

growin', 

And  smile  as  I  have  saw  her  'fore  she  p'  It  her  mournin' 
on. 

87 


GRIGGSBY  S   STATION 

And  I  want  to  see  the  Samples,  on  the  old  lower  eighty, 
Where  John,  our  oldest  boy,  he  was  tuk  and  hurried 
—for 

His  own  sake  and  Katy's, — and  I  want  to  cry  with  Katy 
As  she  reads  all  his  letters  over,  writ  from  The  War, 

What's  in  all  this  grand  life  and  high  situation, 

And  nary  pink  nor  hollyhawk  a-bloomin'  at  the  door? — 

Le's  go  a-visitin'  back  to  Griggsby's  Station — 
Back  where  we  ust  to  be  so  happy  and  so  pore ! 


KNEE-DEEP  IN  JUNE 
I 

TELL  you  what  I  like  the  best— 
'Long  about  knee-deep  in  June, 
'Bout  the  time  strawberries  melts 
On  the  vine, — some  afternoon 
Like  to  jes'  git  out  and  rest, 

And  not  work  at  nothin'  else! 


KNEE-DEEP  IN  JUNE 
II 

Orchard's  where  I'd  ruther  be — 
Needn't  fence  it  in  fer  me ! — 

Jes'  the  whole  sky  overhead, 
And  the  whole  airth  underneath — 
Sorto'  so's  a  man  kin  breathe 

Like  he  ort,  and  kindo'  has 
Elbow-room  to  keerlessly 

Sprawl  out  len'thways  on  the  grass 
Where  the  shadders  thick  and  soft 

As  the  kivvers  on  the  bed 

Mother  fixes  in  the  loft 

Allus,  when  they's  company ! 

Ill 

Jes'  a-sorto'  lazin'  there — 
S'lazy,  'at  you  peek  and  peer 

Through  the  wavin'  leaves  above, 
Like  a  feller  'at's  in  love 
And  don't  know  it,  ner  don't  keer ! 
Ever'thing  you  hear  and  see 
Got  some  sort  o'  interest — 
Maybe  find  a  bluebird's  nest 

92 


V 


KNEE-DEEP  IN  JUNE 

Tucked  up  there  conveenently 

Fer  the  boy  'at's  ap'  to  be 

Up  some  other  apple-tree ! 
Watch  the  swallers  skootin'  past 
'Bout  as  peert  as  you  could  ast ; 

Er  the  Bob-white  raise  and  whiz 

Where  some  other's  whistle  is. 

IV 

Ketch  a  shadder  do\vn  below, 
And  look  up  to  find  the  crow — 
Er  a  hawk, — away  up  there, 
'Pearantly  froze  in  the  air ! — 

Hear  the  old  hen  squawk,  and  squat 

Over  ever'  chick  she's  got, 
Suddent-like ! — and  she  knows  where 

That-air  hawk  is,  well  as  you ! — 

You  jes'  bet  yer  life  she  do! — 
Eyes  a-glitterin'  like  glass, 
Waitin'  till  he  makes  a  pass! 

V 

Fee-wees'  singin',  to  express 
My  opinion,  's  second  class, 

95 


KNEE-DEEP  IN  JUNE 

Yit  you'll  hear  'em  more  er  less ; 

Sapsucks  gittin'  down  to  biz, 
Weedin'  out  the  lonesomeness ; 
Mr.  Bluejay,  full  o'  sass, 

In  them  base-ball  clothes  o'  his. 
Sportin'  round  the  orchard  jes' 
Like  he  owned  the  premises  ! 

Sun  out  in  the  fields  kin  sizz, 
But  flat  on  yer  back,  I  guess, 

Tn  the  shade's  \vhere  glory  is ! 
That's  jes'  what  I'd  like  to  do 
Stiddy  fer  a  year  er  two ! 

VI 

Plague !  ef  they  ain't  somepin'  in 
Work  'at  kindo'  goes  ag'in' 
My  convictions  ! — 'long  about 
Here  in  June  especially  ! — 
Under  some  old  apple-tree, 

Jes'  a-restin'  through  and  through 
I  could  git  along  without 
Nothin'  else  at  all  to  do 
Only  jes'  a-wishin'  you 

96 


KNEE-DEEP  IN  JUNE 

Wuz  a-gittin'  there  like  me, 
And  June  was  eternity ! 

VII 

Lay  out  there  and  try  to  see 
Jes'  how  lazy  you  kin  be ! — 

Tumble  round  and  souse  yer  head 
In  the  clover-bloom,  er  pull 

Yer  straw  hat  acrost  yer  eyes 
And  peek  through  it  at  the  skies, 
Thinkin'  of  old  chums  'at's  dead, 

Maybe,  smilin'  back  at  you 
In  betwixt  the  beautiful 

Clouds  o'  gold  and  white  and  blue 
Month  a  man  kin  railly  love — 
June,  you  know,  I'm  talkin'  of! 

VIII 

March  ain't  never  nothin'  new ! — 
Aprile's  altogether  too 

Brash  fer  me!  and  May — I  jes' 

'Dominate  its  promises, — 
Little  hints  o'  sunshine  and 
Green  around  the  timber-land— 
99 


KNEE-DEEP   IN   JUNE 

A  few  blossoms,  and  a  few 
Chip-bircls,  and  a  sprout  er  two, — 
Drap  asleep,  and  it  turns  in 
'Fore  daylight  and  snows  ag'in ! — 
But  when  June  comes — Clear  my  th'oat 

With  wild  honey ! — Rench  my  hair 
In  the  dew  !    and  hold  my  coat ! 

Whoop  out  loud !  and  th'ow  my  hat  !- 

June  wants  me.  and  I'm  to  spare ! 

Spread  them  shadders  anywhere, 

I'll  git  clown  and  waller  there. 
And  obleeged  to  you  at  that! 


ino 


SEPTEMBER  DARK 


THE  air  falls  chill ; 
The  whippoorwill 
Pipes  lonesomely  behind  the  hill 
The  dusk  grows  dense, 
The  silence  tense ; 
And  lo,  the  katydids  commence. 

101 


SEPTEMBER    DARK 


II 


Through  shadowy  rifts 

Of  woodland,  lifts 

The  low,  slow  moon,  and  upward  drifts, 

"While  left  and  right 

The  fireflies'  light 

Swirls  eddying  in  the  skirts  of  Xight. 


ITT 

O  Cloudland,  gray 

And  level,  lay 

Thy  mists  across  the  face  of  Day ! 

At  foot  and  head, 

Above  the  dead, 

O  Dews,  weep  on  uncomforted ! 


102 


THE  CLOVER 

SOME  sings  of  the  lily,  and  daisy,  and  rose, 
And  the  pansies  and  pinks  that  the  Summertime 

throws 

In  the  green  grassy  lap  of  the  medder  that  lays 
Blinkin'  up  at  the  skyes  through  the  sunshiney  days ; 
But  what  is  the  lily  and  all  of  the  rest 
Of  the  flowers,  to  a  man  with  a  hart  in  his  brest 
That  was  dipped  brimmin'  full  of  the  honey  and  dew 
Of  the  sweet  clover-blossoms  his  babyhood  knew? 

105 


THE    CLOVER 

I  never  set  eyes  on  a  clover-field  now, 
Er  fool  round  a  stable,  er  climb  in  the  mow, 
But  my  childhood  comes  back  jest  as  clear  and  as  plane- 
As  the  smell  of  the  clover  I'm  sniffhr  again  ; 
And  I  wunder  away  in  a  bare-footed  dream, 
Whare  I  tangle  my  toes  in  the  blossoms  that  gleam 
With  the  dew  of  the  dawn  of  the  morning  of  love 
Ere  it  wept  ore  the  graves  that  I'm  weepin'  above. 


And  so  I  love  clover — it  seems  like  a  part 

Of  the  sacerdest  sorrows  and  joys  of  my  hart ; 

And  wharever  it  blossoms,  oh,  thare  let  me  bow 

And  thank  the  good  God  as  I'm  thankin'  Him  now ; 

And  I  pray  to  Him  still  fer  the  stren'th  when  I  die, 

To  go  out  in  the  clover  and  tell  it  good-bye, 

And  lovin'ly  nestle  my  face  in  its  bloom 

While  my  soul  slips  away  on  a  breth  of  purfume. 


1 06 


OLD  OCTOBER 

OLD  October's  purt'  nigh  gone, 
And  the  frosts  is  comin'  on 
Little  heavier  every  day — 
Like  our  hearts  is  thataway ! 
Leaves  is  changin'  overhead 
Back  from  green  to  gray  and  red, 
Brown  and  yeller,  with  their  stems 
Loosenin'  on  the  oaks  and  e'ms ; 
And  the  balance  of  the  trees 
Gittin'  balder  every  breeze — 
Like  the  heads  we're  scratchin'  on  ! 
Old  October's  purt'  nigh  gone. 
109 


OLD   OCTOBER 

I  love  Old  October  so, 
I  can't  bear  to  see  her  go — 
Seems  to  me  like  losin'  some 
Old-home  relative  er  chum — 
Tears  like  sorto'  settin'  by 
Some  old  friend  'at  sigh  by  sigh 
Was  a-passin'  out  o'  sight 
Into  everlastin'  night ! 
Hickernuts  a  feller  hears 
Rattlin'  down  is  more  like  tears 
Drappin'  on  the  leaves  below — 
I  love  Old  October  so! 

Can't  tell  what  it  is  about 
Old  October  knocks  me  out ! — 
I  sleep  well  enough  at  night — 
And  the  blamedest  appetite 
Ever  mortal  man  possessed, — 
Last  thing  et,  it  tastes  the  best ! — 
Warnuts,  butternuts,  pawpaws, 
'lies  and  limbers  up  my  jaws 
Fer  raal  service,  sich  as  new 
Pork,  spareribs,  and  sausage,  too.- 
Yit,  fer  all,  they's  somepin'  'bout 
Old  October  knocks  me  out ! 
no 


OLD-FASHIONED  ROSES 

THEY  ain't  no  style  about  'em, 
And  they're  sorto'  pale  and  faded, 
Yit  the  doorway  here,  without  'em, 
Would  be  lonesomer,  and  shaded 
With  a  good  'eal  blacker  shadder 

Than  the  morning-glories  makes, 
And  the  sunshine  would  look  sadder 
Fer  their  good  old-fashion'  sakes. 

I  like  'em  'cause  they  kindo'- 
Sorto'  make  a  feller  like  'em ! 

And  I  tell  you,  when  I  find  a 

Bunch  out  whur  the  sun  Idn  strike  \  m 


OLD-FASHIOXED   ROSES 

It  allus  sets  me  thinkin' 

O'  the  ones  'at  used  to  grow 

And  peek  in  thro'  the  chinkin' 
O'  the  cabin,  don't  YOU  know ! 


And  then  I  think  o'  mother, 

And  how  she  list  to  love  'em — 
When  they  wuzn't  any  other, 

'Less  she  found  'em  up  above  'em ! 
And  her  eyes,  afore  she  shut  'em, 
Whispered  with  a  smile  and  said 
\Ye  must  pick  a  bunch  and  putt  'em 
In  her  hand  when  she  wuz  dead. 


But,  as  I  wuz  a-sayin', 

They  ain't  no  style  about  'em 
Very  gaudy  er  displaying 

But  I  wouldn't  be  without  'em,—- 
'Cause  I'm  happier  in  these  posies, 

And  the  hollyhawks  and  sich, 
Than  the  hummin'-bircl  'at  noses 
In  the  roses  of  the  rich. 

114 


A  COUNTRY  PATHWAY 

I    COME  upon  it  suddenly,  alone — 
A  little  pathway  winding  in  the  weeds 
That  fringe  the  roadside ;  and  with  dreams  my  own, 
I  wander  as  it  leads. 

Full  wistfully  along  the  slender  way, 

Through  summer  tan  of  freckled  shade  and  shine, 
I  take  the  path  that  leads  me  as  it  may — • 

Its  every  choice  is  mine. 

117 


A    COUNTRY    PATHWAY 

A  chipmunk,  or  a  sudden-whirring  quail, 
Is  startled  by  my  step  as  on  I  fare — 

A  garter-snake  across  the  dusty  trail 
Glances  and — is  not  there. 

Above  the  arching  jimson-weeds  flare  twos 
And  twos  of  sallow-yellow  butterflies, 

Like  blooms  of  lorn  primroses  blowing  loose 
When  autumn  winds  arise. 

The  trail  dips — dwindles — broadens  then,  and  lifts 
Itself  astride  a  cross-road  dubiously, 

And,  from  the  fennel  marge  beyond  it,  drifts 
Still  onward,  beckoning  me. 

And  though  it  needs  must  lure  me  mile  on  mile 
Out  of  the  public  highway,  still  I  go, 

My  thoughts,  far  in  advance  in  Indian-  'lie, 
Allure  me  even  so. 

Why,  I  am  as  a  long-lost  boy  that  went 
At  dusk  to  bring  the  cattle  to  the  bars, 

And  was  not  found  again,  though  Heaven  lent 
His  mother  all  the  stars 

118 


A    COUNTRY    PATHWAY 

With  which  to  seek  him  through  that  awful  night. 

0  years  of  nights  as  vain ! — Stars  never  rise 
But  well  might  miss  their  glitter  in  the  light 

Of  tears  in  mother-eyes ! 

So — on,  with  quickened  breaths,  I  follow  still — 

My  avant-courier  must  be  obeyed ! 
Thus  am  I  led,  and  thus  the  path,  at  will, 

Invites  me  to  invade 

A  meadow's  precincts,  where  my  daring  guide 
Clambers  the  steps  of  an  old-fashioned  stile, 

And  stumbles  down  again,  the  other  side, 
To  gambol  there  awhile 

In  pranks  of  hide-and-seek,  as  on  ahead 

1  see  it  running,  while  the  clover-stalks 
Shake  rosy  fists  at  me,  as  though  they  said — 

"You  dog  our  country-walks 

"And  mutilate  us  with  your  walking-stick  ! — 
\Ye  will  not  suffer  tamely  what  you  do, 

And  warn  you  at  your  peril, — for  we'll  sic 
Our  bumblebees  on  you !" 

121 


A    COUNTRY    PATHWAY 

But  I  smile  back,  in  airy  nonchalance, — 

The  more  determined  on  my  wayward  quest, 

As  some  bright  memory  a  moment  dawns 
A  morning  in  my  breast — 

Sending  a  thrill  that  hurries  me  along 
In  faulty  similes  of  childish  skips, 

Enthused  with  lithe  contortions  of  a  song 
Performing  on  my  lips. 

In  wild  meanderings  o'er  pasture  wealth — 
Erratic  wanderings  through  dead'ning-lands, 

"\Yhere  sly  old  brambles,  plucking  me  by  stealth, 
Put  berries  in  my  hands  : 

Or  the  path  climbs  a  bowlder — wades  a  slough — 
Or,  rollicking  through  buttercups  and  flags, 

Goes  gayly  dancing  o'er  a  deep  bayou 
On  old  tree-trunks  and  snags : 

Or,  at  the  creek,  leads  o'er  a  limpid  pool 
Upon  a  bridge  the  stream  itself  has  made, 

"With  some  Spring- freshet  for  the  mighty  tool 
That  its  foundation  laid. 

122 


A    COUNTRY    PATHWAY 

I  pause  a  moment  here  to  bend  and  muse, 
\Yith  dreamy  eves,  on  my  reflection,  where 

A  boat-backed  bug  drifts  on  a  helpless  cruise, 
Or  wildly  oars  the  air, 

As,  dimly  seen,  the  pirate  of  the  brook — 

The  pike,  whose  jaunty  hulk  denotes  his  speed- 
Swings  pivoting  about,  with  wary  look 
Of  low  and  cunning  greed. 

Till,  filled  with  other  thought,  I  turn  again 
To  where  the  pathway  enters  in  a  realm 

Of  lordly  woodland,  under  sovereign  reign 
Of  towering  oak  and  elm. 

A  puritanic  quiet  here  reviles 

The  almost  whispered  warble  from  the  hedge, 
And  takes  a  locust's  rasping  voice  and  files 

The  silence  to  an  edge. 

In  such  a  solitude  my  sombre  way 

Strays  like  a  misanthrope  within  a  gloom 

Of  his  own  shadows — till  the  perfect  day 
Bursts  into  sudden  bloom, 

125 


A    COUNTRY    PATHWAY 

And  crowns  a  long-,  declining  stretch  of  space, 
Where  King  Corn's  armies  lie  with  flags  unfurled, 

And  where  the  valley's  dint  in  Nature's  face 
Dimples  a  smiling  world. 

And  lo !    through  mists  that  may  not  he  dispelled, 
I  see  an  old  farm  homestead,  as  in  dreams, 

Where,  like  a  gem  in  costly  setting  held, 
The  old  log  cahin  gleams. 


O  darling  Pathway !  lead  me  hravely  on 
Adown  your  valley-way,  and  run  before 

Among  the  roses  crowding  up  the  lawn 
And  thronging  at  the  door, — 

And  carry  up  the  echo  there  that  shall 
Arouse  the  drowsy  dog,  that  he  may  bay 

The  household  out  to  greet  the  prodigal 
That  wanders  home  to-dav. 


126 


WORTERMELON  TIME 

OLD  wortermelon  time  is  a-comin'  round  again, 
And  they  ain't  no  man  a-livin'  any  tickleder'n  me. 
Per  the  way  I  hanker  after  wortermelons  is  a  sin — 
Which  is  the  why  and  wharefore,  as  you  can  plainly  see. 

Oh !    it's  in  the  sandy  soil  wortermelons  does  the  best, 
And  it's  thare  they'll  lay  and  waller  in  the  sunshine  and 

the  dew 
Tel  they  wear  all  the  green  streaks  clean   off  of  theyr 

breast ; 

And  you  bet  I  ain't  a-findin'  any  fault  with  them ;  air 
you? 

127 


WORTERMELON  TIME 

They  ain't  no  better  thing  in  the  vegetable  line ; 

And  they  don't  need  much  'tendin',  as  ev'ry   farmer 

knows ; 
And  when  theyr  ripe  and  ready  fer  to  pluck  from  the  vine, 

I  want  to  say  to  you  theyr  the  best  fruit  that  grows. 

It's  some  likes  the  yeller-core,  and  some  likes  the  red, 
And  it's  some  says  "The  Little  Californy"  is  the  best; 

But  the  sweetest  slice  of  all  I  ever  wedged  in  my  head, 
Is  the  old  "Edingburg  Mounting-sprout,"  of  the  west. 

You    don't    want    no    punkins    nigh    your    wortermelon 

vines — 
'Cause,    some-way-another,   they'll    spile   your   melons, 

shore ; — 

I've  seed  'em  taste  like  punkins,  from  the  core  to  the  rines, 
Which  may  be  a  fact  you  have  heerd  of  before. 

But  your  melons  that's  raised  right  and  'tended  to  with 

care, 
You  can  walk  around  amongst  'em  with  a  parent's  pride 

and  joy, 

And  thump  'em  on  the  heads  with  as  fatherly  a  air 
As  ef  each  one  of  them  was  your  little  girl  er  boy 

128 


WORTERMKLON   TIME 

I  joy  in  my  hart  jest  to  hear  that  rippin'  sound 

When  you  split  one  down  the  back  and  jolt  the  halves 

in  two, 

And  the  friends  you  love  the  best  is  gethered  all  around — 
And  you  says  unto  your  sweethart,  "Oh,  here's  the  core 
fer  you !" 

And  I  like  to  slice  'em  up  in  big  pieces  fer  'em  all, 
Espeshally  the  childern,  and  watch  theyr  high  delight 

As  one  by  one  the  rines  with  theyr  pink  notches  falls, 
And  they  holler  fer  some  more,  with  unquenched 
appetite. 

Boys  takes  to  it  natchurl,  and  I  like  to  see  'em  eat — 
A  slice  of  wortermelon's   like   a   frenchharp   in   theyr 

hands, 
And  when  they  "saw"  it  through  theyr  mouth  sich  music 

can't  be  beat — 

'Cause   it's   music   both   the   sperit   and   the   stummick 
understands. 

Oh,  they's  more  in  wortermelons  than  the  purty-colored 

meat, 

And  the  overflowin'  sweetness  of  the  worter  squshed 
betwixt 


WORTERMELOX  TIME 

The  up'ard  and  the  down'ard  motions  of  a  feller's  teeth, 
And  it's  the  taste  of  ripe  old  age  and  juicy  childhood 
mixed. 

Fer  I  never  taste  a  melon  but  my  thoughts  flies  away 
To  the  summertime  of  youth ;  and  again  I  see  the  dawn, 

And  the  fadin'  afternoon  of  the  long  summer  day, 

And  the  dusk  and  dew  a-fallin',  and  the  night  a-comin' 
on. 

And  thare's  the  corn  around  us,  and  the  lispin'  leaves  and 

trees, 
And  the  stars  a-peekin'  down  on  us  as  still  as  silver 

mice, 

And  us  boys  in  the  wortermelons  on  our  hands  and  knees, 
And  the  new-moon  hangin'  ore  us  like  a  yeller-cored 
slice. 

Oh !  it's  wortermelon  time  is  a-comin'  round  again, 
And  they  ain't  no  man  a-livin'  any  tickleder'n  me, 

Fer  the  way  I  hanker  after  wortermelons  is  a  sin — 
Which  is  the  why  and  wharefore,  as  you  can  plainly  see. 


132 


UP  AND  DOWN  OLD  BRANDYWINE 

UP  and  down  old  Brandywine, 
In  the  days  'at's  past  and  gone— 
With  a  dad-burn  hook-and-line 
And  a  saplin'-pole — i  swawn  ! 

I've  had  more  fun,  to  the  square 
Inch,  than  ever  anywhere  ! 
Heaven  to  come  can't  discount  mine 
Up  and  down  old  Brandywine ! 

135 


UP   AND   DOWN    OLD   BRANDYWINE 

Hain't  no  sense  in  wishin' — yit 

Wisht  to  goodness  I  could  jes 

"Gee"  the  blame'  world  round  and  git 

Back  to  that  old  happiness ! — 

Kindo'  drive  hack  in  the  shade 
"The  old  Covered  Bridge"  there  laid 
'Crosst  the  crick,  and  sorto'  soak 
My  soul  over,  hub  and  spoke ! 

Honest,  now ! — it  hain't  no  dream 

'At  I'm  wantin', — but  ihc  fac's 
As  they  wuz ;  the  same  old  stream, 

And  the  same  old  times,  i  jacks! — 
Gim  me  back  my  bare  feet — and 
Stonebruise  too ! — And  scratched  and  tanned 
And  let  hottest  dog-days  shine 
Up  and  down  old  Brandywine ! 

In  and  on  betwixt  the  trees 

'Long  the  banks,  pour  down  yer  noon, 
Kindo'  curdled  with  the  breeze 

And  the  yallerhammer's  tune ; 


136 


UP   AND   DOWN    OLD   BRANDYWINE 

And  the  smokin',  chokin'  dust 

O'  the  turnpike  at  its  wusst — 

Saturdays,  say,  when  it  seems 

Road's  jes  jammed  with  country  teams !- 

Whilse  the  old  town,  fur  away 

'Crosst  the  hazy  pastur'-land, 
Dozed-like  in  the  heat  o'  day 
Peaceful'  as  a  hired  hand. 

Jolt  the  gravel  th'ough  the  floor 
O'  the  old  bridge ! — grind  and  roar 
With  yer  blame  percession-line — 
Up  and  clown  old  Brandywine ! 

Souse  me  and  my  new  straw-hat 

Off  the  foot-log! — what  /  care? — 
Fist  shoved  in  the  crown  o'  that — 
Like  the  old  Clown  ust  to  wear. 
Wouldn't  swop  it  fer  a'  old 
Gin-u-wine  raal  crown  o'  gold ! — 
Keep  yer  King  ef  you'll  gim  me 
Jes  the  boy  I  ust  to  be ! 


139 


UP   AND    DOWN    OLD   BRAXDYWIXE 

Spill  my  fishin'-worms !    er  steal 

My  best  "goggle-eye !" — but  you 
Can't  lay  hands  on  joys  I  feel 
Xibblin'  like  they  ust  to  do ! 
So,  in  memory,  to-day 
Same  old  ripple  lips  away 
At  my  "cork"  and  saggin'  line, 
Up  and  down  old  Brandywine ! 

There  the  logs  is,  round  the  hill, 

"\Yhere  "Old  Irvin"  ust  to  lift 
Out  sunfish  from  daylight  till 

Dewf all— 'fore  he'd  leave  "The  Drift" 
And  give  us  a  chance — and  then 
Kindo'  fish  back  home  again, 
Ketchin'  'em  jes  left  and  right 
Where  we  hadn't  got  "a  bite !" 

Er,  'way  windin'  out  and  in, — 

Old  path  th'ough  the  iurnweeds 

And  dog- fennel  to  yer  chin — 

Then  come  suddent,  th'ough  the  reeds 


UP   AND   DOWN   OLD   BRANDYWINE 

And  cat-tails,  smack  into  where 
Them-air  woods-hogs  ust  to  scare 
Us  clean  'crosst  the  County-line, 
Up  and  down  old  Brandywine ! 

But  the  dim  roar  o'  the  dam 

It  'ud  coax  us  furder  still 
To'rds  the  old  race,  slow  and  ca'm, 
Slidin'  on  to  Huston's  mill — 

\Yhere,  I   'spect,  "The  Freeport  crowd" 
Xever  canned  to  us  er  'lowed 
We  wuz  quite  so  overly 
Welcome  as  we  aimed  to  be. 

Still  it  'peared-like  ever'thing — 

Fur  away  from  home  as  there — 
Had  more  relish-like,  i  jing! — 

Fish  in  stream,  er  bird  in  air! 

O  them  rich  old  bottom-lands. 

Past  where  Cowden's  Schoolhouse  stands ! 

Wortermelons — master-mine! 

Up  and  down  old  Brandywine! 


UP   AND   DOWN    OLD   BRANDYWINE 

And  sich  pop-paws ! — Lumps  o'  raw 

Gold  and  green, — jes  oozy  th'ough 
With  ripe  yaller — like  you've  saw 
Custard-pie  with  no  crust  to : 

And  jes  gorges  o'  wild  plums, 
Till  a  feller'd  suck  his  thumbs 
Clean  up  to  his  elbows!     My! — 
Me  some  more  cr  lein  me  die! 

Up  and  down  old  Brandywine ! .  . .  . 

Stripe  me  with  pokeberry- juice  ! — 
Flick  me  with  a  pizenvine 

And  yell  "Yip!"  and  lem  me  loose! 
— Old  now  as  T  then  wnz  young 
'F  T  could  sing  as  I  Jiaz'c  sung, 
Song  'ud  surely  ring  dee-rine 
Up  and  down  old  Brandywine ! 


WHEN  EARLY  MARCH  SEEMS  MIDDLE 
MAY 

WHEN  country  roads  begin  to  thaw 
In  mottled  spots  of  damp  and  dust, 
And  fences  by  the  margin  draw 

Along  the  frosty  crust 
Their  graphic  silhouettes,  I  say, 
The  Spring  is  coming  round  this  way. 

147 


WHEN    EARLY    MARCH    SEEMS    MIDDLE    MAY 

When  morning-time  is  bright  with  sun 
And  keen  with  wind,  and  both  confuse 

The  dancing,  glancing  eyes  of  one 

With  tears  that  ooze  and  ooze — 
And  nose-tips  weep  as  well  as  they, 
The  Spring  is  corning  round  this  way. 

When  suddenly  some  shadow-bird 
Goes  wavering  beneath  the  gaze, 

And  through  the  hedge  the  moan  is  heard 

Of  kine  that  fain  would  graze 
In  grasses  new,  I  smile  and  say, 
The  Spring  is  coming  round  this  way. 

When  knotted  horse-tails  are  untied. 
And  teamsters  whistle  here  and  there, 

And  clumsy  mitts  are  laid  aside 

And  choppers'  hands  are  bare, 
And  chips  are  thick  where  children  play, 
The  Spring  is  coming  round  this  way. 

When  through  the  twigs  the  farmer  tramps, 

And  troughs  are  chunked  beneath  the  trees, 
And  fragrant  hints  of  sugar-camps 
Astray  in  every  breeze, — 
148 


,: 


WHEN    EARLY    MARCH    SEEMS    MIDDLE    MAY 

When  early  March  seems  middle  May, 
The  Spring  is  coming  round  this  way. 

When  coughs  are  changed  to  laughs,  and  when 
Our  frowns  melt  into  smiles  of  glee, 

And  all  our  blood  thaws  out  again 

In  streams  of  ecstasy, 
And  poets  wreak  their  roundelay, 
The  Spring  is  coming  round  this  way. 


V 

A  TALE 
OF  THI- 

AIRLY    DAYS 


OH !   tell  me  a  tale  of  the  airly  days — 
Of  the  times  as  they  ust  to  be: 
'Tiller  of  Fi-er"  and  "Shakespeare's  Plays" 

Is  a'  most  too  deep  fer  me ! 
I  want  plane  facts,  and  I  want  plane  words, 

Of  the  good  old-fashioned  ways. 
When  speech  run  free  as  the  songs  of  birds 
'Way  back  in  the  airly  days. 

152 


A   TALE   OF   THE   AIRLY   DAYS 

Tell  me  a  tale  of  the  timber-lands — 

Of  the  old-time  pioneers ; 
Somepin'  a  pore  man  understands 

With  his  feelins  's  well  as  ears. 
Tell  of  the  old  log  house, — about 

The  loft,  and  the  puncheon  flore — 
The  old  fi-er-place,  with  the  crane  swung  out, 

And  the  latch-string  thrugh  the  door. 

Tell  of  the  things  jest  as  they  was-- 

They  don't  need  no  excuse ! — 
Don't  tech  'em  up  like  the  poets  does, 

Tel  theyr  all  too  fine  fer  use ! — 
Say  they  was  'leven  in  the  fambily — 

Two  beds,  and  the  chist,  below, 
And  the  trundle-beds  that  each  helt  three, 

And  the  clock  and  the  old  bureau. 

Then  blow  the  horn  at  the  old  back-door 

Tel  the  echoes  all  halloo, 
And  the  childern  gethers  home  onc't  more, 

Jest  as  they  ust  to  do : 


155 


A  TALE  OF  THE  AIRLY   DAYS 

Blow  fer  Pap  tcl  he  hears  and  comes, 

With  Tomps  and  Elias,  too, 
A-marchin'  home,  with  the  fife  and  drums 

And  the  old  Red  \Yhite  and  Blue ! 

Blow  and  blow  tel  the  sound  draps  low 

As  the  moan  of  the  whippenvill. 
And  wake  up  Mother,  and  Ruth  and  Jo, 

All  sleepin'  at  Bethel  Hill: 
Blow  and  call  tel  the  faces  all 

Shine  out  in  the  back-log's  blaze. 
And  the  shadders  dance  on  the  old  hewed  wall 

As  they  did  in  the  airlv  davs. 


OLD  MAX'S  NURSERY  RHYME 

I 

TX  the  jolly  winters 
*  Of  the  long-ago, 
It  was  not  so  cold  as  now — 

O!  Xo!  Xo! 
Then,  as  I  remember. 

Snowballs  to  eat 
Were  as  good  as  apples  now. 
And  every  bit  as  sweet! 

159 


OLD   MAN  S   NURSERY   RHYME 
TT 

In  the  jolly  winters 

Of  the  dead-and-gone, 
Bub  was  warm  as  summer, 

With  his  red  mitts  on, — 
Just  in  his  little  waist- 

And-pants  all  together, 
Who  ever  heard  him  growl 

About  cold  weather? 

TTT 

In  the  jolly  winters 

Of  the  long-ago — 
Was  it  half  so  cold  as  now? 

O !  No !  No  ! 
Who  caught  his  death  o'  cold, 

Making  prints  of  men 
Flat-backed  in  snow  that  now's 

Twice  as  cold  again? 


1 60 


*  - 1.. Jill"  111% 


OLD    MAN  S    NURSERY    RHYME 
IV 

In  the  jolly  winters 

Of  the  dead-and-gone, 
Startin'  out   rabbit-huntin' — 

Early  as  the  dawn, — 
"Who  ever  froze  his  fingers, 

Ears,  heels,  or  toes, — 
Or'd  'a'  cared  if  he  had? 

Nobody  knows ! 

V 

Nights  by  the  kitchen-stove, 

Shellin'  white  and  red 
Corn  in  the  skillet,  and 

Sleepin'  four  abed ! 
Ah  !  the  jolly  winters 

Of  the  long-ago ! 
\Ye  were  not  as  old  as  now — 

O!  No!  No! 


163 


JUNE 

O  QUEENLY   month  of  indolent  repose ! 
I  drink  thy  hreath  in  sips  of  rare  perfume. 
As   in   thy   downy   lap  of  clover-hloom 
I  nestle  like  a  drowsy  child  and  doze 
The  lazy   hours   away.     The   zephyr  throws 
The  shifting  shuttle  of  the  Summer's  loom 
And  weaves  a  damask-work  of  gleam  and  gloom 
Before  thy  listless  feet.     The  lily  hlows 
A   bugle-call  of   fragrance  o'er  the  glade ; 

And,  wheeling  into  ranks,  with  plume  and  spear, 
Thy  harvest-armies  gather  on  parade ; 

While,  faint  and  far  away,  yet  pure  and  clear, 
A  voice  calls  out  of  alien  lands  of  shade : — 
All  hail  the  Peerless  Goddess  of  the  Year ! 
164 


5Q 
O 


THE  TREE-TOAD 

CUR'OUS-LIKE,"  said  the  tree-toad, 

"I've  twittered  fer  rain  all  day; 
And  I  got  up  soon, 
And  hollered  tel  noon  — 
But  the  sun,  hit  blazed  away, 

Tell  I  jest  dumb  down  in  a  crawfish-hole, 
Weary  at  hart,  and  sick  at  soul  ! 

167 


THE  TREE-TOAD 

"Dozed  away  fer  an  hour, 

And  I  tackled  the  thing  agin  : 

And   I   sung,  and  sung, 

Tel  I   knowed   my  lung 
Was  jest  about  give  in  ; 

And  then,  thinks  I,  ef  hit  don't  rain  now, 

They's  nothin'  in  singin',  anyhow  ! 

"Onc't  in  a  while  some  farmer 
Would  come  a-drivin'  past ; 

And  he'd  hear  my  cry, 

And   stop   and   sigh — 
Tel  I  jest  laid  back,  at  last. 

And  I  hollered  rain  tel  I  thought  my  th'oat 

Would  bust  wide  open  at  ever'  note ! 

"But  I  fetched  her!— O  /  fetched  her!— 
'Cause  a  little  while  ago, 

As  I  kindo'  set, 

With  one  eye  shet, 
And  a-singin'  soft  and  low, 

A  voice  drapped  down  on  my  fevered  brain, 

A-sayin', — 'Ef  you'll  jest  hush  I'll  rain!'" 


168 


A  SOXG  OF  LONG  AGO 

ASOXG  of  Long  Ago : 
Sing  it  lightly — sing  it  low- 
Sing  it  softly — like  the  lisping  of  the  lip?  we 

used  to  know 

\Yhen  our  baby-laughter  spilled 
From  the  glad  hearts  ever  filled 
With  music  blithe  as  robin  ever  trilled ! 
171 


A   SONG  OF   LONG   AGO 

Let  the  fragrant  summer  breeze, 

And  the  leaves  of  locust-trees, 

And  the  apple-buds  and  blossoms,  and  the 

wings  of  honey-bees, 
All  palpitate  with  glee, 
Till  the  happy  harmony 
Brings  back  each  childish  joy  to  you  and  me 

Let  the  eyes  of  fancy  turn 

\Yhere  the  tumbled  pippins  burn 

Like  embers  in  the  orchard's  lap  of  tangled 

grass  and  fern, — 
There  let  the  old  path  wind 
In  and  out  and  on  behind 
The  cider-press  that  chuckles  as  we  grind. 

Blend  in  the  song  the  moan 

Of  the  dove  that  grieves  alone, 

And  the  wild  whir  of  the  locust,  and  the 

bumble's   drowsy  drone ; 
And  the  low  of  cows  that  call 
Through  the  pasture-bars  when  all 
The  landscape  fades  away  at  evenfall. 


A    SONG   OF    LONG    AGO 

Then,  far  away  and  clear, 

Through  the  dusky  atmosphere, 

Let  the  wailing  of  the  killdee  he  the  only 

sound  we  hear : 
O  sad  and  sweet  and  low 
As  the  memory  may  know 
Is  the  glad-pathetic  song  of  Long  Ago ! 


175 


OLD  WINTERS  ON  THE  FARM 

I    HAVE  jest  about  decided 
It  'lid  keep  a  toi^n-boy  hoppin' 
Fer  to  work  all  winter,  choppin' 
Fer  a'  old  fireplace,  like  /  did  ! 
Lawz  !  them  old  times  wuz  contrairy  ! — 

Blame'  backbone  o'  winter,   'peared-like, 
JTonIdn't  break!- — and  I  wuz  skeerd-like 
Clean  on  into  Fcb'narv! 

Nothin'  ever  made  me  madder 
Than  fer  Pap  to  stomp  in,  layin' 
In  a'  extra  forestick,  savin', 

"  Groun'-hog's  out  and  seed  his  shadder !" 
176 


^ 


ROMANCIN' 

I?  1VEX  a-kindo  "niusin'  "  as  the  feller  says,  and  I'm 
About  o'  the  conclusion  that  they  hain't  no  better 

time. 
When  you  come  to  cipher  on  it,  than  the  times  we  ust  to 

know 

When  we  swore  our  first  "dog-gonc-it"  sorto'  solum-like 
and  low ! 

170 


ROMANCIN 

You  git  my  icly,  do  you  ? — Little  tads,  you  understand — 
Jest  a-wishin'  time  and  time  you   that  you  on'y  \vuz  a 

iv.an. — 

Yit  here  I  am,  this  minit,  even  sixty,  to  a  day. 
And  fergitthr  all  that's  in  it,  wishin'  jest  the  other  way! 

I  hain't  no  hand  to  lectur'  on  the  times,  er  rffmonstrate 
\Yhare  the  trouble  is,  er  hector  and  domineer  with  Fate, — 
But  when  I  git  so  flurried,  and  so  pestered-like  and  blue, 
And  so  rail  owdacious  worried,  let  me  tell  you  what  I 
do!— 

I  jest  gee-haw  the  hosses,  and  onhook  the  swingle-tree, 
"Whare  the  hazel-bushes  tosses  down  theyr  shadders  over 

me ; 
And  I  draw  my  plug  o'  navy,  and  I  climb  the  fence,  and 

set 
Jest  a-thinkin'  here,  i  gravy!  tel  my  eyes  is  wringin'-wet ! 

Tho'  I  still  kin  see  the  trouble  o'  the  prcsnnt,  I  kin  see — 
Kindo'   like   my   sight   wuz   double — all   the   things   that 

list  to  be ; 

And  the  flutter  o'  the  robin  and  the  teeter  o'  the  wren 
Sets  the  wilier-branches  bobbin'  "howdy-do"  thum  Xow 

to  Then! 

1 80 


ROMANCIN 

The  deadnin'  and  the  thicket's  jest  a-bilin'  full  of  June, 
From  the  rattle  o'  the  cricket,  to  the  yallar-hammer's 

tune ; 
And  the  catbird  in  the  bottom,  and  the  sapsuck  on  the 

snag, 
Seems  ef  they  can't — od-rot   'cm! — jest  do  nothin'  else 

but  brag ! 

They's  music  in  the  twitter  of  the  bluebird  and  the  jay, 
And  that  sassy  little  critter  jest  a-pcckin'  all  the  day; 
They's  music  in  the  'flicker/'  and   chey's  music  in  the 

thrush; 
And  they's  music  in  the  snicker  o'  the  chipmunk  in  the 

brush ! 

They's  music  all  around  me! — And  i  go  back,  in  a  dream 
Sweeter  yit  than  ever  found  me  fast  asleep, — and  in  the 

stream 
That  ust  to  split  the  medder  whare  the  dandylions 

growed, 
I  stand  knee-deep,  and  redder  than  the  sunset  down  the 

road. 


183 


ROMANCIN' 

« 

Then's  when  F  b'en  a-fishin' ! — And  they's  other  fellers, 

too, 
With  theyr  hick'ry-poles  a-swishin'  out  behind  'em ;  and 

a  few 
Little   "shiners"   on   our  stringers,   with   theyr   tails   tip- 

toein'  bloom, 
As   we   dance   'em   in  our  fingers  all   the   happy   jurney 

home. 

I  kin  see  us,  true  to  Xatur',  thum  the  time  we  started  out, 
\Yith  a  biscuit  and  a  'tater  in  our  little  "roundabout" ! — 
I  kin  see  our  lines  a-tanglin',  and  our  elbows  in  a  jam. 
And  our  naked  legs  a-danglin'  thum  the  apern  o'  the  dam. 

I  kin  see  the  honeysuckle  climbin'  up  around  the  mill, 
And  kin  hear  the  worter  chuckle,  and  the  wheel  a-growl- 

in'  still; 

And  thum  the  bank  below  it  T  kin  steal  the  old  canoe. 
And  jest  git  in  and  row  it  like  the  miller  ust  to  do. 

Wy,  I  git  my  fancy  focussed  on  the  past  so  mortul  plane 
I  kin  even  smell  the  locus'-blossoms  bloomin'  in  the  lane ; 
And  I  hear  the  cow-bells  clinkin'  sweeter  tunes  'n 

"Money-musk" 
Fer  the  lightnin'  bugs  a-blinkin'  and  a-dancin'  in  the  dusk. 

184 


ROMANCIN 

And  when  I've  kep'  on  "musin',"  as  the  feller  says,  tel  I'm 
Firm-fixed  in  the  conclusion  that  they  hain't  no  better 

time, 
\Yhen  you  come  to  cipher  on  it,  than  the  old  times, — I 

de-clare 
I  kin  wake  and  say  ''dog- gone-it !"  jest  as  soft  as  any 

prayer ! 


187 


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